Forgive Me
by Stevie
Summary: A songfic based on The Ataris tune "The Saddest Song" Sirius's reflections on not being in Harry's life and self-loathing for that reason. Very angsty. R&R!


"Forgive me"  
  
A songfic based on "The Saddest Song" by The Ataris  
  
Warnings: Extremely mild mentions of violence/suicide/etc, VERY ANGSTY and maybe even a little insane at parts.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Author: Miss Stevie  
  
Disclaimer: I am not profiting off my stories in any way and I own nothing in this except for the plot. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. All lyrics belong to The Ataris. I do not claim to own them. Don't sue me because I have no money anyway.  
  
A/N: The first thing I should mention is that sometimes this fic jumps around a little. It is not because I am incapable of writing smooth transitions, it's because Sirius is kind of spazzing out and his thoughts are all over the place. It shouldn't be too hard to follow, however, and if you have half a brain it shouldn't be beyond your grasp. Keep in mind that he is supposed to be feeling really guilty about not being in Harry's life. He's kind of so caught up in it that he doesn't realize that it isn't his fault. He thinks that because he convinced Lily and James to switch to Peter he as good as killed them, so it is his fault. People have a tendency to do that, I think, blame things on themseleves. That's what I was going for. If it's not the impression you got, don't hesitate to say so in your review. Blah blah blah..I'll move along now. Ideally this fic will eventually be one long chapter, since really it's not the kind of thing you chapterize, in my opinion. However, since I am writing it rather slowly and sometimes need encouragement (I.E.- Reviews!) to get me to write more, I decided to post whatever I've written whenever I write it. Once I get the entire thing done I will mush it into one long story. ^.^ Yup. Basically what I am doing here is pleading for reviews. I'll give you a cookie! o.~  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip. Oh, God. The incessant dripping has been going on for hours now. it's funny how the kind of noises one wouldn't even notice in everyday life can seem deafening through the silence.  
Drip. Drip. I try not to think about it. It could be water, seeping through the leaky roof or a crack in the wall, from the rain. Maybe. More than likely, though, it's human blood. Blood exuding slowly from sel- inflicted wounds of a suicidal prisoner. The thought makes me sick to me stomach.  
Of course, the idea has struck me. Death would be a pleasent alternative. To just die and not have to be in this retched place anymore. I've held the blade above my wrists countless times, eager to end it all. But it's my conscience that stops me. One thing keeps me alive. Like a tiny, flickering hope through the darkness. Harry James Potter.  
  
"Only two more days, until your birthday  
Yesterday was mine.  
You'll be turning five."  
  
I've been marking marking the days. One tiny scratch mark along the stone day for time I hear the heavy metal door screech open. The sound of the day guard coming in to take the place of the night guard. The only human in this entire place, outside of the prisoners. It's not like we're really human anyway.  
I keep count. It's been four years. Four years since I've seen the sunlight. Four years I've been bloody rotting in this cell, wrongly convicted for a crime I didn't commit. As if losing my best friend hadn't been enough.  
The thoughts send a fresh wave of of anger through my normally numb body. I rear back and punch the slimy stone wall, blind with consuming rage. A sickening crack breaks the silence and I feel a surge of excruciating pain the moment my knuckles meet the wall, shattering. God, it hurts like hell.  
I almost savor the pain, as if in my own twisted, ludicrous way I'm avenging James's death. My mouth contorts into something like a grin as I numbly watch the blood trickle from my mangled right hand.  
Gods, four years. Four bloody years. Yesterday was my birthday. Well, happy mother fucking birthday to me. I don't know if I could take another one in this place. If my birthday has passed, then there's another one coming up...  
Only two days until Harry's birthday. The 31st, I remember the date. He'll be five. Somehow, in my dilusional brain I think this makes me less god-awful of a godfather.  
I remember the day Harry was born. I'd never seen Jamsie so happy. I'll never forget the look on his face when handed me his newborn son, eyes filled with pride and tears of joy. Trusting me to hold his infant firstborn, barely more than five minutes old. I had been there the whole time, waiting in the hall with an extremely nervous James. And then, he asked me to be Harry's Godfather. I didn't deserve it.  
If only James could see me now. He'd be disgusted. Never having even met the child I'm supposed to be raising. God, James, I'm sorry.  
I smash my hand into the wall again, relishing the pain. This time only because I deserve it. I wish there was some way to cause me as much pain on the outside as I feel on the inside.  
Oh, God. James trusted me with his only son, his own flesh and blood, and what did I do? I as good as murdered him and his wife and then abandoned his only son.  
I deserve this place. My mother was right, I am ungrateful filth and I don't deserve to live. A hopeless waste of human protoplasm. A failure. 


End file.
